The Haunted
by vapiddreamscape
Summary: They haunt her too.


Liesel Meminger wonders if Death looks like this to everyone. He reminds her of the boy who died so long ago. The only difference is this version was able to grow up. His hair is the color of lemons; he has the same bright eyes. The resemblance is uncanny and, if souls were able to shiver, she would.

As they walk down Anzac Avenue, Liesel stares at him, wondering if his appearance is simply a coincidence. However, over the years, she has stopped believing in coincidence. It must be providence. Destiny. Fate.

Eventually, they stop near the soccer fields, and reaching into one of many pockets, Death pulls out a dusty black book. Reluctantly, her eyes leave the achingly familiar face and grow wide when she realizes what he holds before her. Her story, the one she left in Germany a lifetime ago, when she was young and lithe and alive. Liesel thought it had died along with Himmel Street. If you thought about in a roundabout way, it had. Death himself had it all this time, after all.

Reaching to take it, she asks him, "Is this really it?"

He nods. Liesel draws back for a moment. Does she really want these words, the ones that both saved and destroyed her in one fell swoop? The answer is quite simple._ Yes, I do. _She takes the proffered book.

Slowly, she opens the cover of the _Book Thief _and flips through the pages. Although faded, each of her words, damning and glorious, is still there, proving some things can last, even if people don't.

"I can't believe…"

Liesel brushes her fingers over the painstakingly created words. The enormity of it all overwhelms her and she sits on the curb. Death takes a seat beside her, watching as she takes everything in.

"Did you read it?" she asks. However, she does not look at him. Liesel is still enraptured by her words.

He nods. "Yes. Many times."

"Could you understand it?"

Silence falls over the two on Anzac Avenue as Death stares at the cars that pass them by. Although he does not share with Liesel his thoughts, the once familiar eyes betray everything. She knows what he is not saying and understands it too, as she has not said the same thing countless times. Eventually, he turns to face her and the words pour forth from him, chained birds ready to fly free.

"I am haunted by humans."

Liesel stares at him for what seems like eternity. It could be, for all she knows. They could have sat on that curb for an eon and she would have been none the wiser. However, it's like staring at the sun. Ultimately, you had to turn away or you would go blind from its pure brilliance.

Looking down at the book in her hands, Liesel comes to understand that she too has many ghosts. Her first is her father, the Communist she never really knew. Over the decades, he has become only the faintest memory, warmth, love, and the blurred charcoal sketch of a face. Memories fade, replaced by new ones, much like a tape recorded over again and again. After time, only pale ghosts of the past remain.

Next is Werner, the first real death she can remember. It was him she could thank for the book thievery. Liesel supposed she had something to thank him for, the ghost that haunted her dreams for so many years. Then her mother, the one who delivered her to the people she truly considered her parents. Even though Liesel was better off with Rosa and Hans, her mother's abandonment left wounds almost as deep as those left by the war.

She had a few blissful years of peace. Then there was Max, the first time at least. He hadn't truly been dead, but it had scarred her all the same.

Himmel Street was next. Rosa and Hans, Mama and Papa, the first people she could remember showing her love. Sometimes, in her dreams, she could hear Mama's yelling and the sweet music of Papa's accordion. Tommy. Rudy.

Oh, Rudy. Until she died, there were days when all she could taste were his dusty, dead lips. Those were the days she couldn't bring herself to eat, to get out of bed. Tears soaked the sheets and nightmares kept her from sleeping. Even on the good days though, lemons tasted like the ashes of Himmel Street.

The Hermanns, who gave her a home when she had none, followed them in the lineup, a few short years after Liesel moved out of their home. Alex Steiner took longer but he died, as all living things must do. Max was the last piece of Himmel Street she had left and when Death genuinely claimed him, she moved halfway around the world to escape the pile of bodies.

In the end, she added more. A husband who didn't, understand why she refused to have lemons in the house, why she refused to listen to accordion music or watch races. No matter how many times she tried to explain, he just couldn't.

Then, there were the children who knew little of mother's murky past. They didn't understand why she had what they dubbed "the gray days." When they learned about the Holocaust in school, they asked her questions. She could never bring herself to answer them. It made everything too real.

These are Liesel Meminger's ghosts and they are everywhere. She can't escape them, no matter how hard she tries. They are feathers. They are accordions. They are whistling old men, ironing boards, children who complain of ear aches, runners on a track, and little boys who long for a single kiss from their best friend. That is just the beginning.

The people she loved and lost line up behind her. Their glittering souls are pearls on the necklace of Death. She wears that necklace and carries its burden every day, the increasing weight slowly crushing her.

"I am haunted by them as well." She glances behind them, half expecting the ghostly faces to stare back at her.

Death gives her a sad smile. "I know and I am so sorry."

With that, they stand. He takes her hand and Death, the entity with a face so familiar to the one she lost on Himmel Street all those years ago, leads Liesel Meminger into the great unknown.

Perhaps there, she will lay her ghosts to rest.


End file.
